Your head was pounding. The metallic tang of blood lingered in your mouth, and you could feel something warm trickling from your nose, the sharp sting of a split lip making you grimace as consciousness crept back in.

The first thing you noticed was the cold, rough rope binding your wrists to the back of a chair. Then came the muffled voice, distant at first, growing sharper with each passing second.

When you finally forced your eyes open, the scene before you sharpened with brutal claritym. Van Eck stood at the center, delivering a pompous speech, with Pekka Rollins lurking smugly behind him.

Inej’s sharp gaze never wavered from Van Eck, while Jesper forced a grin, taunting him with humor. Nina scoffed openly, her disdain cutting, and Matthias muttered icy contempt. Wylan remained silent but calculating, his mind likely crafting an escape plan.

Matthias, stoic as ever, glowered at Van Eck with an expression that could have frozen the harbor solid. “This is pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, the muscles in his arms tensing against his restraints. “You think words will sway us?”

But Van Eck either didn’t hear or didn’t care. He was in the middle of his grand speech, gesturing expansively to the crew.